We were on location in the Colorado Rockies, shooting scenes for an upcoming Christmas television special. The older celebrity I was directing was getting tired as I pressed for yet another take. Not that any were unusable. They just hadn't risen to the performance I had imagined when I wrote the script. I kept pushing for "just one more", and "just one more" is what I kept getting -- of the same performance! I was about to call for yet another take when Ted, my producer, called me to one side and quietly pointed out that I was likely not going to get a better take, but I was tiring the talent to the point I would get even worse performances on the remaining scenes to be shot later. I stubbornly pressed on anyway and Ted was respectful enough of my position as director to let me do it, though he was obviously displeased with my decision.
We shot the scene again. It was only marginally better than the other takes. But more importantly, I had flexed my rightful creative authority as director and won, or so I thought. We broke for lunch. Danny Franks, our lighting designer, had overheard my conversation with Ted. He fell in step beside me as I walked from the set.
Danny may be physically a short man, but he's super tall in the ways that count. The name Danny Franks and American theatrical drama on television are practically synonymous. His lighting design credits on "American Playhouse", "Great Performances", "Live At Lincoln Center" and a host of network specials, chronicle an award-winning career of Broadway music and drama staged on American television. I was privileged to work alongside this veteran television legend early in my career and we had become good friends.
Danny turned to me and said something that changed my life. "Tom, you've got to learn how to lose the battle so you can win the war!" I looked at him puzzled (shows you how smart I am!). Danny continued, "You won the battle with Ted back here, but you lost the war. The next time you disagree over something, he'll be much less inclined to listen to you. He'll suspect you would insist on getting your way and disregard the value of his opinion anyway, no matter what he says. If instead, you'd have made him feel that you DID value his opinion, listened to what he said, and let yourself lose what was really a very inconsequential battle, you'd have won Ted's confidence to trust you more the NEXT time...when it might really count. In fact, you'd stand a better chance that there will BE a next time!
I let Danny's words sink in. In "winning the battle" that morning I had little to show for it (side note: I ended up using an earlier take anyway!) -- but what I DID achieve was to alienate my producer and lose his trust. I had compromised my performer's energies for the remaining scenes of the day, and I had frustrated the rest of my crew who could see (much better than I) the futility of my stubbornness. Later that day, I went to Ted, my producer, and ate some well-deserved crow! He graciously accepted my apology. We went on to work together on lots of other productions.
Over the years, I've had plenty of opportunities to put Danny's advice into practice, not when it comes to compromising moral values or ethical integrity, but all those times (and directors seem to have more of them) when I was convinced my way of doing something, my creative vision, my choice, was the right one. Time and time again, I've seen how my NOT insisting on getting my way (even when I had the authority to do so because I was also producing) saved a relationship with someone, or strengthened one, or gave an opportunity for someone else to shine that encouraged their own creative journey. Those choices, on and off the stage, have made me a stronger leader and a better man. Thanks, Danny!
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